SuperMarauderLock Teen fic
by tipthecabbie2.0
Summary: Okay so this is basically exactly what it says on the tin. It centers around Sam, John, Sherlock, and Remus, and it DOES NOT focus on romantic chemistry (Though there may be some Destiel and/or Johnlock fluff later on.) Have fun, my pretties!
1. Diagon Alley

Sam Winchester looked up at Dean, grinning from ear to ear. He was finally going to see what all this hype was about… If Bobby could be bothered to pick them up.

'Wonder where he is, the portkey's leaving any minute…' Dean worried, as he took another bite of lemon meringue pie, but just as he was saying so, there was a loud _pop!_ and Bobby appeared in front of them.

'Alright, now, you boys behave, y'hear? I don't wanna have to tell your dad if Professor McGonnegal sends me a damn howler, Dean. Now grab hold of the portkey, and don't you dare let go until I tell you. Okay?' Dean and Sam eagerly grabbed the old, chipped mug just as it started to glow blue.

'Bye, dad,' Sam said as they disappeared, leaving John passed out on the couch.

As they whirled through the air, Sam felt like he was going to be sick. There was something keeping him absolutely glued to the mug, and it was making his hand really itchy.

'Alright, boys, let go!'

'Are you_ insane, _Bobby?'

'Trust me! Let go!'

Sceptically, Sam wrenched his fingers from the porcelain…

…And fell flat onto his face on the cobblestones of Diagon Alley. He stood up and brushed himself off just as Dean and Bobby landed.

'Jerk.'

'Bitch.'

'Stop it, boys. Alright, off to Ollivander's, Sammy. Dean, you can run off and catch up with your friends, I think I see Castiel over there.'

'Oooooh, Dean's going to see his _boyfriend!_'

'Shut up, Sammy,' Dean replied before skulking off to run after Cas.

As they walked down the Alley, Sam gawked at all of the witches wizards dressed in funny-coloured cloaks and robes, and ducked out of the way of the way of no less than six different spells of various origin, none of which would have harmed him, but better safe than sorry. Every time Sammy saw a new shop, he had to re-evaluate what he considered strange: it seemed that the deeper into the alley they got, so too did the stores get stranger. They passed _Eylops' Owl Emporium_, _Gringott's, Madame Malkin's, Ambrosius' Herbal Apothecary, _and a variety of other such strange stores.

'Bobby?'

'Yeah, Sammy, what is it?'

'What if they got it wrong? What if Dean's the only one with magic?'

Bobby took a deep breath and stooped a bit to look into Sammy's eyes.

'Remember when you drew that pentagram on the floor without even touching the blood? Your dad thought you were possessed, right?' Sam nodded.

'Well, then, there you go. Muggles can't do that. Besides, Dumbledore's never been wrong about a student, Sammy, and he sure as hell ain't wrong about you. You're gonna be great. Now, let's get to Ollivander's and get your wand, huh?' Sam smiled and nodded at Bobby.

Just as they were about to go inside, a dark-haired boy about Sammy's age, and only a bit shorter, stormed out, leaving his older brother to pay for his wand quickly and run after him, calling 'Sherlock Holmes, you get back here right now!' Bobby and Sam shared a sceptical look before they walked inside, Sam slightly hidden behind Bobby.

'Ahh, Mr. Singer, hello! You haven't broken another of my wands, have you?' Sammy peeked out from behind his as-good-as-father.

'Oh, I see. Is this Mr. Winchester, then?'

'I'm Sam,' he squeaked as he stepped forward. Tapes began to take his measurements of their own accord, as Mr. Ollivander told him about the wizard selection process.

'Now, Sam, how much has your brother told you about wands? Anything at all?'

'He told me I don't get to pick my wand, that… it'll pick me?'

'And he's absolutely right. The wand chooses the wizard, and you will never get as good results with another wizard's wand. Alright, I think those are all the measurements,' Ollivander said, causing the tapes to fly off into their cupboard. The ancient wizard went to the back of the shop, and came back holding a faded old black box, about the length of a shoebox, but unreasonably narrow.

'Try this,' he said as he pulled a light-coloured wand from the box. Sam took it from him gingerly and flicked it in the direction of the door. Which exploded.

'Oh dear. _Reparo!_' Ollivander said as he flicked his own wand.

'Not my wand, then,' Sammy decided as he handed it back.

'No, I should think not…' Ollivander put the wand back before returning with an intricately patterned red-and-gold box.

'Ebony, 11", dragon heartstring… surprisingly swishy,' he told Sam as he handed it to him. Sam waved the wand briefly, causing the staircase to collapse.

'No! No! Certainly not!' Ollivander cried.

Seven wands later, Sam was sceptical of whether he really was magical. He cautiously took the offered wand ( 9 6/8", Oak, Unicorn Hair, slightly flexible), and flicked it. All of the damage that he had caused began to undo itself, and his hair got rumpled by a breeze that seemed to come from nowhere. Bobby clapped, and Ollivander looked incredibly relieved.

'Six galleons, please, Mr. Winchester.'

oOo

That evening in their room at The Leaky Cauldron, Sam pored over his new spellbooks by wandlight with a new spell he had learned: _Lumos._

'Go to bed, Sammy,' Dean complained around midnight.

'If you sleep in and we miss the train, you won't get to go at all.' Sam stuck his tongue out at his big brother before whispering '_nox.' _As he fell asleep, Sammy wondered vaguely if he would make any friends at Hogwarts.

oOo

Early the next morning, the boys took turns showering (Sammy first, so Dean wouldn't use all the hot water), then got dressed and headed downstairs into the pub for breakfast. Dean ordered a bacon and sausage quiche ('You can't have _pie _for breakfast, Dean,' Sam had said, to which Dean replied 'Yeah, but this is _egg pie, _Sammy, it's a breakfast pie.'), and Sam ordered the closest thing to healthy food he could find: a bowl of the lumpiest porridge that ever lumped. It had some kind of indiscernible fruit on it, which sort of made the skin on the back of Sam's neck tingle funny. About halfway through breakfast, a group of boys flew down the stairs and crashed into their table.

'Sorry about that,' said the tallest of the four, a boy with long, dark hair.

'James here decided it would be a good idea to try and curse my ear off.' He gestured to the boy next to him, also tall, with unruly, jet-black hair.

'I'm Sirius, by the way. Sirius Black.'

'Sam and Dean Winchester. Shove off, we're trying to eat,' said Dean, literally pushing a small, rodent-esque boy off of the table.

The boys ran off, causing trouble for the innkeeper somewhere else.

'Dean, that was rude,' Sam scolded his older brother, who really should have known better.


	2. On The Train

John Watson wandered around King's Cross station, looking for Platform 9 ¾. He knew better than to ask a guard again: The last one had looked at him like he was crazy. No, he had to find it himself. His parents were on vacation and Harriet had had to get to work, so she had dropped him off in the parking lot. As John wandered around, he saw a boy his own age, but a bit taller, pushing a trolley with a trunk and a raven in a cage. He was following an older boy with a similar trolley; and both of them were wearing silver and black wizard's robes.

'Come along, Sherlock, or we'll miss the train! It's your first year to Hogwarts, you can't be late!' The older boy called behind him.

'Excuse me! Are you going to Hogwarts as well?' John asked the boy called Sherlock as he ran to catch up with him.

'Of course I am! Do I look like a squib to you?' Sherlock asked, turning to look at John.

'Oh. You're muggle-born, aren't you? Never mind then, can't expect you to know. Yes, I'm going to Hogwarts. You can't find your way to the platform, right? Just follow Mycroft's lead, he's my brother there. What's your name? Mine's Sherlock Holmes.'

'John Watson. So, are your whole family…?'

'Purebloods, yeah. Well, I mean, my older brother Sherrinford is a squib, but my mother says we oughtn't talk about that. Apparently he's a disgrace to the family name or something, but I don't get it. Sherrinford is nice. Nicer than Mycroft, most of the time.'

'Sorry, but… What's a squib?'

'Pretty much the opposite of you. A squib is somebody who's born to magical parents but can't do magic.'

'And what did you say I was?'

'Muggle-born. But you'll probably get worse names than that, there's a lot of pure-blood supremacy at Hogwarts, according to Mycroft.' Just then, Mycroft stopped, signalling that they were at the right column, so they waited for him to signal that the passage was free. There was already a family passing through: Three school-aged boys, two around sixteen, and one John and Sherlock's age, and a middle-aged man with a beer gut and a ball cap.

When the other family were through, Mycroft signalled for John and Sherlock to go first, so Sherlock ran, head-long, at the barrier. John's eyes went wide as he disappeared through what had seemed to be solid brick two seconds earlier.

'Well? Do you want to miss the train?' Mycroft asked, snapping John back to reality.

'No, sorry,' John startled as he started to run in the direction of the barrier. His eyes squeezed shut involuntarily as he drew near the barrier, then opened again when he realized he wasn't going to hit it. He turned at the sound of somebody laughing and scowled as he realized it was Sherlock.

'Your face! You thought you were really going to hit the wall, didn't you? It's bewitched, you know, it only lets magic folk through. I was half wondering if you would- Oh, look, the train!" The whistle had just been blown, and the steam was starting. John and Sherlock ran to take their bags and pets to the baggage cars before clamouring aboard just as the train started to move.

'Oh, good, you did make it on. I'm sure mummy will be pleased you're not a _total_ failure,' Mycroft lilted as he passed them in the train's corridor.

'Well, I'm sure not _both_ of us could be Head Boy, _Mycroft,_' Sherlock sneered back.

'Come on, John, let's get a compartment,' he said, dragging John by his arm behind him.

'Let's just hope you're in Slytherin, Sherlock, or mummy will be quite upset,' Mycroft called behind them.

'What did he mean, about being in Slytherin? What's Slytherin? And why will your mum be upset if you're not in it?' John inquired as he peered into each compartment, hoping for an empty one.

'There are school houses at Hogwarts, and they're kind of like your family, in a way. You sleep in a dormitory with your housemates, and you eat all your meals with them, though that's a little more flexible, you can eat at another house's table if you want unless it's a special occasion. All of your spare time after hours is spent in the house's common room, and you can either earn or lose points for your house. There are four of them: Gryffindor, for brave people, Ravenclaw, for intelligent people, Hufflepuff, for loyal people, and Slytherin, for people like my family, who are cunning and ambitious.'

'And where do you want to go, Sherlock?' John asked.

'What do you mean? My whole family have been in Slytherin for-'

'That's not what I mean. I mean, where do _you _want to be? You don't sound so keen on being in Slytherin, so I assume you've got other plans?'

'Never make assumptions, John. Look, this is the last compartment before the prefect carriages, let's just ask if we can sit in here.' Sherlock slid the door open, knocking on the glass.

'Hello, d'you mind if we sit in here? These are the last seats,' he asked the compartment's sole occupant, a small boy with long brown hair and dark, round eyes.

'No, I don't mind, please sit,' he said, a little too eagerly, in an American accent.

'I'm Sherlock Holmes, and this is John… Sorry, what was your last name, John?'

'Watson. What's your name?'

'Sam Winchester. Are you guys first years, too?' he asked.

'Yea, we are. Sam, if you don't mind my asking, why aren't you at the Salem Academy? It's in the U.S., right?' Sherlock inquired, hesitating slightly. Salem was a bit of a tender subject in the wizarding world, even to this day.

'My brother Dean goes to Hogwarts. Our uncle Bobby got Dumbledore to switch us out of Salem. So, are you guys from wizarding families?'

'Sherlock is, but I'm 'muggle-born', whatever that means. How about you?'

'My mom was a witch, but she never told my dad. She died before I even remember, though, so I might as well be muggle-born. What houses do you guys want to be in?'

'Yea, Sherlock, what house do you want to be in?'

'….Ravenclaw," Sherlock barely breathed.

'Sorry, what? I didn't hear you.'

'Ravenclaw, okay?' Sherlock pretty much yelled at John.

'I'm stupid, though, so that's never going to happen. I'm going to be in Slytherin, like everyone else in my family.' John furrowed his brow as Sherlock began to climb up onto the luggage rack, using the window ledge as a step.

'Sherlock, who told you that? You know an awful lot for a stupid person. You knew my parents were non-magical, and I never told you that. And so far, you've managed to answer every one of my questions,' he noted as he looked up at Sherlock, who was now curled up facing the wall.

'Come down from there, Sherlock, it'll be more comfortable to lie on the seats. Sam, come sit over here with me, we'll let him sulk for a while. So what were you doing before you got your letter? I was away at boarding school, my mum phoned to tell me.'

'You wouldn't believe me,' Sam said, a sad smile touching his lips.

'Try me,' John replied.

'His family hunts demons, John, don't make him talk about it. Seeing a demon is bad enough, let alone killing them,' came Sherlock's muffled voice.

'How did you…?' Sherlock sat up to face them, the top of his head brushing the ceiling.

'There's a glass flask of salt attached to your belt, who would carry that unless they were warding off ghosts? Nobody, let's move on then. You're dressed in layers, lots of flannel. You're prepared in case it's cold, but you're not unprepared for it to be hot, either, so you must travel around a lot. Then there's your accent and the fact that you didn't want to go to Salem. What's Massachusetts known for? Hunting witches. A Hunting wizard would be shot on sight, you can't be seen, which suggests that you're rather well-known within the hunting community. Then there's the look in your eyes. You've seen much more violence than anyone our age should ever have to see, which suggests that not only are your family hunters, you're directly involved. All this combined with your last name, Winchester, and the fact that you said your older brother's name is Dean. There's a boy named Dean four years under my brother Mycroft, quite a trouble maker apparently, who is also American, and also fits all of the criteria I listed, so is almost certainly the same Dean. My brother figured out that he was a hunter in less than a minute.'

Just then, the train jerked, sending Sherlock flying into John and Sam's laps.

'Well, Brother Mine, it seems you're making friends alright, aren't you?' Mycroft lilted from the corridor as he slid the compartment door open. Sherlock got up, dusting himself off, and stuck his chin out in his brother's direction.

'I fell.'

'I suppose you were up in the baggage rack? You always were so stupid.' John stood up, bringing himself to his (Not very impressive) full height as Sam looked Sherlock over in case of injuries.

'Why would you even say that? He's your little brother! You're supposed to stick up for him, not make him feel worthless! Sherlock's really intelligent, if you ask me. He figured out I was muggle-born without me telling him, and he's just figured out a ton about Sam just from looking at him. Now, if you would kindly bugger off., I think he's hurt my rib.' Mycroft raised his eyebrows, clearly astonished at having been stood up to by a first-year, and a muggle-born at that, but decided to let it lie, respecting John's bravery.

'You three had best get changed, we're getting close to Hogsmeade. I hope to see you in the common room, little brother.'


End file.
